Erised
by My Sharpie Is Green
Summary: Desire destroys us all. HG. [ONESHOT][PRE DH]


More angsty H.M.S. Orange Crush. (You know, while I'm a HG shipper myself, I beat up on them so often…it's horrible when I really think about it. Ginny and Narcissa tend to get battered in my stories…) Don't own HP.

**Erised**

His skin was a whisper in the dark and uncompromising night, his voice a shiver in the cold. With warm emerald eyes and fiery spirit, he was the quintessential hero and she faithfully played the part of damsel in distress. She remembers the sight of his sword in the Chamber, the feelings of disbelief and shame, the thought that he almost died for her and the tears that followed. She can recall the night after the Quidditch World Cup, being dragged along by Fred and George as the sound of screams made her blood run cold, and being consoled by Ron after the Triwizard Tournament.

She used to need people. She used to be weak, a simpering girl in love with the boy who could never love her back, and she played the role for him. He always loved to be the hero. She's always loved the thought of being his.

But she gave up on being the damsel a long time ago.

He's always loved to play the hero, but now she needs him more than ever and he's nowhere to be found. He's inescapable – he's everywhere, but never for her. She feels as if she's drowning in the dark, and the innocent boy with the emerald eyes doesn't even glance her way as she's screaming for help, waving her hands in the air as she suffocates beneath the surface. Things aren't the way they used to be – the world isn't flat anymore; people no longer have the naïve appearance of innocence and she's quickly learning that simple household spells can't fix things they way they used to when life was full of scraped knees and cooties.

He leans casually against the dank walls of Grimmauld Place, an eyebrow carelessly and possibly unknowingly cocked in her direction. "Hermione said you wanted to talk to me."

She nods quietly, feeling the old Ginny come rushing back. Her knees are weak and she can feel the nauseating presence of winged insects in her stomach. For the first time she is aware of, she can sympathize with butterflies – one touch, one accidental graze of their wings and they'd never fly again, doomed to a pathetic and often short existence full of half-hearted attempts to pick themselves up off the ground. "I miss you."

He swallows and looks down at the floor, shifting his jaw as he readjusts his gaze. "I can't do this right now."

"Please – I know this is pathetic, but I've been trying to be strong and I've been trying to move on and leave you alone and just forget about you the way that you've so clearly forgotten about me, but I can't. Every time I look at something, I remember a conversation we've had or I ask myself what you'd think of it… Your face, it's everywhere. It's horrible. You're there when I'm awake and you're there when I'm asleep and dreaming and…and I've never cried so much in a year as I've cried this year. I'm begging you… put me out of my misery so I can stop being the damsel and you can be the hero you love to be."

He shakes his head and brushes past her, leaving her standing frozen and humiliated in the hallway.

"Twenty seconds," he says. She turns around to face him, her eyes nonplussed and eyebrows furrowed. "It was that quick. You know? Because…because that's how love comes. It's like a decision…love is a decision you make, and I made it on the spot that day."

She shakes her head. "That doesn't – "

"I know that you made that decision long before I did, and it's harder to unmake it the longer you've been going along with it, but you have to move on. You can't wait here for me." She nods, biting her lip. "Is that the hero you wanted?"

"I want the truth."

"The truth is that I don't know what the truth is, because I tell myself that I don't love you so that I won't put you in danger, but I think that, really, I love you so much it actually hurts to breathe when I think about it."

She steps forward and kisses him softly, placing her hands on his shoulders. He wraps strong hands calloused by his broomstick around her waist and pulls her into him, the light scent of her conditioner swallowing him. Moving to the study and closing the door behind him, he presses her against the wall. "I missed you," he breathes, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse. She reaches up and helps him before peeling it off and throwing it to the floor. Her hands go to the edge of his green Weasley sweater and his undershirt follows it shortly afterwards. She pulls away and he steps back slightly. "What's wrong?"

"We can't."

"We can, we just shouldn't."

"This isn't right."

"Gin – "

"You were right. I need to move on."

He frowns, dissecting her with his eyes. "I didn't mean…"

"Kissing you in abandoned rooms is not moving on. Kissing you in abandoned rooms is not helping you keep me safe."

"Ginny, I didn't mean it like that."

"You might not have meant what you said, but I do."

"What are you doing?"

"Be the hero." She kisses his cheek lightly. "Your damsel in distress can wait."

He blinks, and she's gone.


End file.
